Revised Remembered event

 

Austin Kosater

Professor Kenny Harmon

English 1920

Narrative essay (First Draft)

12/29/09

The War for Strength

I am an athlete; however, this was not always the case. Beginning in the 8^th grade I realized that I did not possess the natural strength or ability to compete on talent alone. I realized I would have to work twice as hard to be able to compete on the same level as others. Perhaps, even though it seemed like a curse at the time, this lack of natural strength was for the best as I quickly established the work ethic and inner drive that eventually allowed me to compete on the next level. My father coached varsity sports for over thirty years, so I was constantly immersed in athletics and competition. He once talked to me about his life as a teenage athlete on a ride home from a basketball tournament. “I wasn’t the greatest, or the fastest or strongest. I knew I wasn’t going to be better than the guy next to me, but I surely was going to outwork him.” I knew from that conversation that I would have to do the same thing. My battle was long and arduous; nevertheless, it has instilled in me an unbreakable drive and uncompromising value of hard work. Hard work has become a natural component of my life.

             I was well aware that others were stronger and, more often than not, I allowed this fact to haunt me. I did not need any extra exterior discouragements; however, they were certainly present. As I progressed through my battle, something miraculous happened, discouragements simply turned into motivation. Anytime someone told me that I couldn’t do something, instead of agreeing, I began to reply with, “watch me.” Of course, nothing came easy and I encountered many failures and setbacks; nonetheless, I progressed forward. When I began to workout, my best lifts were minimal compared to others. I was a pudgy 8^th grader, stunned at the seniors moving what seemed like vast amounts of weights on the other end of the weight room. I did not allow these seemingly superhuman feats to intimidate me; I simply focused on the task at hand.

            I was often the only one in the weight room, alone with the iron and my thoughts; I was in my natural element. The only sound other than the music was the repetitive tap of the iron weights on the rubber floor; I was alone with my thoughts and the weights. After one of my last lifts, I saw one of the seniors enter the weight room out of the corner of my eye. I watched as he turned the lights off and began to set up on the station on the other end. He saw me and walked over. “Are you the only one in here Austin?” I replied, “Yeah, I have been for a while.” He nodded and walked back over to his station and began his lifts, and I simply returned to mine.

            After a solid twenty minutes of lifting and silence, he spoke seemingly to no one. “You know how important lifting is right? You know what you do in here determines how you play out there?” He pointed in the direction of the football field and continued, “Keep it up like this and the coaches will notice. I was in your shoes just a couple years ago, and look where I am now. Keep working and see what happens.” He finished his last set and racked his weights and left. There I sat, alone again in the now dark weight room. My thoughts now turned to a new motivation, instilled by one team leader with only a few words. I did as I had seen him do just a few minutes before and racked the weights I was using and left the weight room dark and empty.

      Now in the third year of working hard to achieve my athletic goals, I sat in math class filled with anticipation, not for factorials or equations, but for our final game of the B-Team season. “Teachers please dismiss the B-Team football team, now.” The moment had finally come, time to depart. We meandered down to the locker room and silently readied our gear. After we had everything packed, we put on our away clothes, ties and all. Our coaches arrived and gave us what amounted to our final B-Team pep talk. I simply don’t remember what the talk was about, but I’m sure it was motivational at the time. We all looked around, mumbled a few words and gathered our travel bags. We walked out into the humid Georgia air and like the Allman Brothers once famously sang, we got on a big Greyhound bus and took our seats. Some PSP’s came out and others, including myself, got lost in the Ipod.

            Two hours of jokes and talking passed and we arrived in Americus. Our bus pulled onto Southland’s campus, and silence fell over the bus. We began to realize that this was our final B-Team game; our 7-0 streak was on the line. We walked into an old gymnasium that was as dusty as it was hot. The starters gathered the chairs around in a circle and silently change, but no one talked about the game. Time seemed to play like a bad action movie, everything moving slowly and the tension grew as time went on.

             Coach stuck his head in and yelled, “Make sure you don’t fall after you put your cleats on!” His voice reminded me of a surfer, mellow yet intense. We all could hear the fact he was nervous too. His bald head shimmered with sweat and his sunglasses hung from his neck. No sooner had the words left his mouth one could hear the sound of cleats sliding and click against the dirty beige tile floor and a loud slam. We all looked over and were clearly shocked by the fall. Needless to say, we all laughed and began to walk again, but slowly this time. The tension had been alleviated for the time being. Coach gave us one last pep talk and we lined up, nervously ready to take the field. We ran out and jumped to slap the big, black pirate flag hanging above the chain link fence that led to the field.

            After we take the field and go through our normal pre- game routines, we pray and gather on the sidelines. Our meager crowd relentlessly cheers us on, even before kick-off. We kick off and start on the defensive side of the ball. Within three plays they are on our goal line. Our crowd has become substantially calmer. Within two plays they are up 7-0. Defense comes off the field, and we receive the kick. Now it’s time for offense to regain the lost points.

            We go out and huddle around the 30 yard line, and our quarterback receives the play and joins us in the huddle. He calls the play among deep breaths, not from nerves, but he has to play offense and defense. Time seemingly slows again. We jog up to the line and look across at our opponents, and for some reason, they look intimidating. Their black jerseys make them look much bigger. He shouts the cadence, “Spike!” and we fire off. My opponent, number 34, decides he wants to try to swim by me. I think to myself, “Ok pal, let’s dance.” I realize that, because I have about six inches on him, and perhaps ten pounds, no swim move is going to work. I see our running back go down about three yards ahead of where I was. The whistle blows, and we stop. Our entire first series goes this way, and we end up having to punt away. Defense gives up another touchdown. and we go into half time down 13-0. It seems like our streak will die in Americus.

            After halftime we start out on offense. We are all determined to score this time. Jordan comes to the huddle, “Ok, it’s time to quit playing around, let’s go!”  Sarcastically I think to myself, “Ok let’s go.” He calls the play, Pro Right 46. This means it’s a lead on our right side of the line. We get down and get set, “Hike!” We fire off, and I easily turn my man out. The man next to me, does the same. I look down field expecting to see the running back going down a few yards ahead of us, but I don’t see him. My mind races, but suddenly I see him juke a linebacker and take off down field. He scores, and we meet him in the end zone. Amidst pats on the helmet and pads, he manages to make it off the field and get ready for next time; its 13-7.

            The defense manages to hold our small deficit for one more possession. We retake the field and get ready to put another in the end zone. Three plays go by, and we gain around 20 yards.  Then the drive stalls, and we have to turn to our passing game, which is meager at best. Our quarterback manages to throw one to our best wideout for around 8 yards, enough to make a first down, but he doesn’t stop. He snaps his hips left then right and jets down field for more yards, and in no time he is in the end zone. The huge score board lights up to show a score of 14-13; perhaps our streak won’t die in Americus. The defense just has to hold for one more series. The air horn blows, and it’s the fourth quarter. We all throw our hands up into the air with four fingers raised and shout “FOUR!”  My mind is consumed with one thought, “This is it Southland, this is our time.”

            We resume the field and get the play in from the sidelines. “Pro Right QB Sneak, Pro Right QB Sneak.” The play was only designed to gain two yards; however, we had other ideas. The quarterback’s voice was filled with anticipation; he panted from exhaustion, but he knew this was up to him. He was about to put himself in the hands of the six big men in front of him. We jogged to the line and got down, ready to push Southland off the line. Looking down into the mangled dirt and grass, the importance of the play struck me; it was now or never. I looked up at the player across from me; he looked tired and weak. Their black jerseys weren’t intimidating anymore, but perhaps I was simply delirious. My mind was calm and I could sense the fear in his breath. Time slowed to what seemed like a complete halt, and all I could hear was my own heartbeat and breath. For what seemed like an eternity, the two lines stared at each other. I see our quarterback crouch down and get ready to put his life in the line’s hands. Suddenly I hear him bark the cadence “Hike!” We fire off, I cut block my man and quickly regain my footing. I look up to see our quarterback dodging people down field; we chase after him trying to pick up block downfield. He runs as fast as he can kicking up dust as he nears the goal line. He scores and seemingly loses his mind, jumping up and down and yelling at the top of his lungs. We meet him in the end zone and congratulate him the whole way back to the sideline. Perhaps we just claimed our undefeated mark. Southland fails to score again, and we end the game with a Victory kneel. I look across and see both coaches get drenched with the water coolers. We pause celebrating to shake Southland’s hands then run off and resume our celebrations. We take what seems like hundreds of pictures and go back to the locker room.

Just two years after our dramatic victory in Americus, we lost in the state semifinals a few miles down the road in Albany. Saddened by the loss, we mourned as a team. We had all worked hard to experience the euphoria of victory, and now it was over forever. A few months later, in the final weeks of my senior year, we were finishing our senior lifts. These would determine how far you had come as an athlete. Squats were always a weak point for me because of my height and lack of flexibility. Today was that day though, to culminate all of my hard work into one final lift.

            I walked into the weight room as I had done many times before, and I saw our athletic trainer out of the corner of my eye on the Stairmaster as he was every day.  He saw me and yelled across the room, “Is today that day Kosater?” I smiled and replied, “Today is that day!” He smiled and continued his endless stair climbing. As I changed out of my jeans into my cut-off shirt and gym shorts, my mind raced about the upcoming squat. I nervously thought to myself “Can I really do this? Am I ok with myself if I don’t get what I want?” I tried to clear my mind and erase negative thoughts because heavy lifting is ninety nine percent a mental task. As the locker room began to fill with my brothers in iron, my thoughts left the major lift and joined in various topics of conversation. Of course, I would not be the only max this day; I wouldn’t even be the heaviest, but in my mind, I was alone again in the weight room, secluded in the darkness.          Class was only an hour long, so time was limited. After several warm-up lifts, I was ready to go for the gold, so I loaded the final plates onto the bar. 425 pounds sat on the bar and mockingly stared at me. I stared right back at it and muttered, “You will be mine.” My thoughts began to race again; the trainer yelled encouragement from the station next to me. “It ain’t nothin’ but a thing Kosater; it ain’t nothin’ but a thing!” My best friend took a position behind me, ready to react in case something went wrong. Even he was nervous; I could hear it in his voice.

            “Down, up that’s it, you can do anything once.” My mind suddenly became extremely clear, and I heard nothing. I grabbed the weight belt off the rack, pulled it tight, and walked up to the bar. Only hearing The Red Hot Chili Peppers blaring on the radio, I crouched under all 425 pounds and got ready. I closed my eyes and opened them again; I said a quick prayer and stood up with it. For what seemed like an eternity, I walked backwards and found the center point of the station. I locked my neck back and began the squat. I went down and felt the ping of the pegs; I yelled and powered my way back up. I locked my legs out and re-racked the bar. My hearing returned, and I heard the weight room explode in yells and congratulations from everyone. I simply collapsed onto the rubber mat and smiled. I had come so far; I had accomplished more than my goal, and I was proud of myself. I had truly grown as an athlete; all that hard work had finally paid off.